PoE Deadfire: Godseeker
by Vyrazhi
Summary: YARR! HERE THERE BE SPOILERS! When Vesi Svari, a young Dwarven maiden and follower of Berath, seeks out a rogue god, there's no telling whether the Wheel will make its final turn for her... Rated T.


_**PILLARS OF ETERNITY – DEADFIRE: GODSEEKER**_

 _A Swashbuckling Tale by Vyrazhi, ©2018_

CHAPTER ONE: I. HATE. BOATS.

I. Hate. Boats. Seasickness, storms, and swabbing, swabbing, swabbing – the whole lot. Even as the good captain of a floating death trap called the Defiant, I feel as helpless as a landlubber. I am one, from the White that Wends, or at least I was one in my previous life.

I've been reborn. The Wheel has taken another turn. So says my god/goddess, Berath, who guards the door between life and death. I've come back from the In-Between and lived to tell the tale, but so much for that. As soon as I rose, I found trouble had found me again.

"You're awake!" Familiar hands shook me hard. "Just in time, too. We've got pirates."

I let the word slur out of my mouth like I was drunk. We Dwarves were famous for that.

"Yes, pirates. Scurvy dogs. Robbers on the high seas. Do you even remember your name?"

 _The Double Balance._ "Vesi. Vesi Svari. You're…Edèr?" Somehow the name fit the man, burly but not uncouth. Simple but not stupid. He gave a series of quick nods. "My crewmate."

"First mate, more likely. Get your rear in gear and I'll help you get dressed."

In such a state, Awakened once more, that was a feat on par with scaling a mountain. I felt like a quarterwit as I struggled into my trusty chainmail and boots. As for my undertunic, I was still wearing it, thank the gods. No one likes to leave a corpse naked, even if it has no potential of resurrection. Still, I wouldn't have minded if Edèr had found me skyclad…

"Armor? Good. Now for weapons. Here's your small shield and saber – whoa." He steadied me with an arm that could hug a barrel of its own accord. "Easy. Let me help you." Red-faced, I fought to regain my bearings. My people may be mighty, but we're not light on our feet. I was even less nimble than usual. "That's it. Now let's get on deck before those bastards take our ship."

"Wait!" My sandy hair keened in all directions, and the dirt on my face smeared my fingers.

Edèr gave a quick wink. "No need to preen for killing."

I glared. "You know me better than that. At least you did. I need to test my voice." Before he could say another word, I cleared my throat and spat, then sang some scales. "Perfect."

The (first mate?) crewman gave my arm a yank and practically hauled me aboveboard.

Its stench was what I noticed first. Five or six pieces of living dung strode across it, leering.

"There you are, Captain. I thought ye'd be a little taller." He flashed drug-rotten teeth.

"Life disappoints. I won't. You'll meet your end. Then I'll dance on your dead bodies."

The lead pirate laughed. "You're wrong. It's you who'll meet your end, and all your crew."

Brandishing St. Drogga's Skull, a relic from my now-shattered keep, I leaned forward.

"I don't always speak in rhyme, but when I do, it's grappling time." Grin. Swing. Miss! Sing:

" _Valiant, they fought but were ripe for the kill._

 _Their bones were laid down deep beneath a hill,_

 _But the Twinned God Herself/Himself has murky ways._

 _If their bones still rest there, well, no one can say."_

 _One, two, three, four_ – allegro tempo, naturally. When you'd four left feet and two left hands, music helped keep you on point. The point of your blade met its mark more often, but in my case, I needed more than a little aid. It arrived in the form of five bony benefactors.

Their teeth and skinless forms rattled. The pirates I currently faltered against wet themselves.

"What's the matter?" I shouted in the midst of the surrounding gale. "Never seen a Chanter?"

Amid their shrieks, I continued flailing my macabre saber. The rest of my crew made short work of these pesky barnacles while I tried to keep from falling down and sliding overboard. It might well have happened, but what was the use of dying, rising, and dying again so quickly? I would have been sent straight back to the bloody Wheel as a fat aumaua's horse.

Once the battle was in bed, I found myself in Edèr's arms – in the position of a potato sack.

"What the – Get the – Put me down!" He did but held onto me just in case. The storm raged.

"Berath!" My bellow came from deeper down in my guts than I'd ever imagined. "Take them!"

He/She/It proceeded to do so. I beheld the pirates' souls, weak and sickening wisps of light, flee. The sight made me rush to the railing and retch nothing but fresh water into the sea. 'Tis my curse as a Watcher. At first I deemed it a blessing, but I've come to know better.

"You okay?" Edèr asked once I was empty. "Let's get you below decks. Take my hand." After I shook my head and held out my arms, he picked me up, but not like a potato sack. It was hell to be short and stout, but lacking the basic skills most kith had mastered. 'Twas worse to meet them, all over Eora, and find that I could count those who understood on one hand. I was feeble, but not old. Weak, but not frail. My noggin was dented, but not dull. Such was my lot, and my god/dess had taught me to accept it instead of scorning it, as I once did.

At times I thought only Berath understood. That's why I'd agreed to serve as a Celebrant. In this moment, though, I didn't feel like merrymaking. I felt like bawling – when I was alone.

My mate leveled me with a frank stare. "You look like death warmed over. No pun intended."

"Why are we out here? Why are we chasing after a dream? A phantom? A figment of mind?"

"Figments of mind don't blow up castles. Eothas is out there with blood on his hands."

"Three hundred and twenty-three." The number floated in front of me. "Twenty-four. Russa." A tear rolled down my cheek, but I brushed it away. "The Wheel take my poor black cat."

As if on cue, a sick one from that deified trickster Rymrgand, our vessel crashed onto land.

I. _Hate._ Boats.


End file.
